


To Have a Home

by rarelypoetic



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 11:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12580740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rarelypoetic/pseuds/rarelypoetic
Summary: Hawke is a part-time barista, part-time "bodyguard" for hire. In other words, he makes coffee and sometimes beats up assholes for money.But when one of those assholes turns out to be a very powerful man who's relentlessly hunting his new client, Hawke is going to have to get creative.





	To Have a Home

Hawke woke up every morning fully anticipating that the day ahead would be a disaster. If he was right, at least he was prepared. If he was wrong... Well, then he was pleasantly surprised. That was the secret to living life as a Hawke: never expecting anything to go right.

So far, Hawke had been entirely right to anticipate disaster on this particular Tuesday. It was only noon and he’d already fumbled two coffee orders, pissed off Varric by jamming the cappuccino machine, and slipped on an area of tiled floor that had a clearly marked “wet floor” sign on it. At least he hadn’t been holding hot coffee at the time.

Hawke wiped down another table and ducked his head to contain a mighty groan as the little bells above the front door announced a new customer. Being the only one on shift was agony, especially when Merrill, who was on her lunch break, wasn’t around to compensate for his foul mood with her unflinching politeness.

If only Hawke could be more like Merrill. Or more like anyone who was capable of not being a hot mess, really.

Hawke tucked the rag into his back pocket and made his way behind the counter as the customer made their way further into the store.

“Welcome to the Hanged Man. What can I do for you?” Hawke droned. He mustered up the last of his patience and forced his face into a close approximation of a smile.

The customer, who was wearing some ridiculous hooded contraption that concealed most of his face, shifted uncomfortably and said nothing. Oh God, was he about to get robbed? That would just be the cherry on top of this fucktastic morning, wouldn’t it? Hawke was more annoyed by the idea than scared. He hadn’t even had his break yet; he didn’t want to fight some wannabe ninja in skin-tight leggings on an empty stomach.

On the bright side, Varric would be thrilled to hear the story afterwards.

Before Hawke could decide if he should start with a round kick or a hook to the face, the stranger brushed his hood off in one fluid movement and said, “Hello,” in one of the deepest voices Hawke had heard outside of cheesy movie trailers.

Hawke coughed. Scratch that - he didn’t want to have to die fighting Morgan Freeman. “Um, do you know what you want? I could tell you the specials, if you like, though they’re listed just on that board over--”

“You’re Hawke, correct?” the customer interrupted.

Hawke took a good look at him and regretted it straight away. His eyes were _too_ green. Whose eyes were even that color? They had to be contacts, or-- and his hair! Hawke had seen plenty of hipsters pass through this neighborhood, and not a single one of them had managed to pull off their platinum blonde undercuts without looking like a lost extra from the newest X-Men movie. But somehow this man was doing more than pulling it off. In fact, the more Hawke looked at him the more he couldn’t imagine him with any other hair color.

“Yes. Hawke. That’s me,” Hawke said hastily. A beat passed. “Uh, why?” Okay, backtracking, backtracking. “What have you heard about me, I mean?”

God, that was even worse.

“Mostly lewd things,” the man said, mouth tilting up in something that could have been a smirk if you squinted. Hawke’s heart staged a temporary rebellion before he added, “Isabela sent me here.”

“Ah, Isabela. That would... explain a lot.” Hawke cleared his throat. This had better not be another one of her attempts at setting him up with a ‘friend’ of hers. That last blind date had ended in tears and soiled trousers (Hawke didn’t like to think about it).

The man chuckled hoarsely, then cut himself off with a sudden cough, as if reprimanding himself for being amused.

“My name is Fenris,” he said. “I apologize for coming in so abruptly. Isabela told me that your break was soon.”

Fenris idly began to chew his bottom lip, and for the first time Hawke noticed the twin white lines trailing from under his mouth down to his throat, where they disappeared under the high collar of his hoodie. He made a valiant effort not to gawk, but it was a close thing.

“It’s good to meet you, Fenris,” Hawke managed to say, miraculously not sounding like a person who had just met the definition of wish-fulfillment in human form. Hawke held his hand out over the counter and Fenris eyed it like it was viper for a full five seconds before he shook it once, tentatively. Fenris was sliding his hand back into the safety of his pocket before Hawke had the chance to marvel at the callouses on his palms.

Hawke smiled. “And it’s no trouble. S’not exactly busy around here, as you can see.”

Fenris made a little show of looking around, like he hadn’t noticed that he and Hawke were the only ones in the entire establishment. Hawke took a moment to admire the sharp angles of Fenris’ profile - the fine jut of his jaw, the proud downwards slope of his nose, the barely-there dip between his lower lip and chin - then guiltily cut his gaze to the side as Fenris turned back to face him.

Hawke tapped his fingers twice against the counter. “So, not to be rude, by why did Isabela send you here? If you wanted a good drink, we’re not exactly known for coffee. Or for anything, really.”

“I don’t drink coffee,” Fenris said simply, like it was absurd to speculate that drinking coffee might be the reason he had come here, to a coffee shop.

“Oh,” said Hawke, who could not imagine fully opening his eyes without at least three double shots of espresso.

Fenris sighed. “I told her this wasn’t a good idea.”

He looked about ready to put his hood on and march back outside, or perhaps disappear mysteriously in a cloud of black mist, so Hawke quickly held up his hands non-threateningly. He knew he was a big guy, and some people found that intimidating. Which, to be honest, was usually a fair assessment.

“Look, I don’t know what she told you about me, but Isabela doesn’t send people to my workplace unless she trusts them. And I trust anyone she trusts. So you can tell me what your problem is, and I can pretty much guarantee I won’t run away screaming.”

Fenris stared at him blankly for a moment, mouth half-open, before he said, "I need you to help convince my sister I'm not a drug addict."

Hawke wasn't exactly sure what his face did in that moment. He also wasn’t sure what about him screamed ‘'will gladly help lost causes'. He'd have to ask Isabela - after all, it was her fault he kept getting stuck in situations like this. First Merrill and her weird, secretive extended family and that damnably ugly old mirror, and now.... This. Not that Hawke could say with any confidence what exactly 'this' was.

Fenris hadn't really given him much more to go on, and Hawke wasn't thrilled about the idea of broaching the subject. He felt like Fenris was the type of guy to misinterpret one of the many stupid things that could possibly come out of Hawke's mouth at any moment. It was a preventative measure, then, to keep quiet.

Well, not entirely quiet. He had a business to run after all. Hawke asked Fenris how much he thought he should pay for his help, and Fenris turned faintly red, suddenly sheepish as he said, "I don't have much."

Of course. Hawke blew out a sigh and brushed a piece of greasy hair off his forehead. "Isabela must really like you, huh?"

"Perhaps." Fenris shrugged. "We do have a few... experiences in common."

Hawke did a poor job of concealing the skeptical look on his face. Experiences? That could mean anything from all-night orgies to saving (i.e. stealing) small animals from neglectful owners to a penchant for hijacking boats. It was a toss up.

"Okay," said Hawke, trying not to draw out the word too much. "Usually I'd charge at least fifty an hour for a body guard gig, but I'll take whatever you have on hand right now, and you can pay the difference later. Is ten an hour okay?"

"Can I..." Fenris' face reddened even further. "Put down a deposit instead?"

Oh, that was never a good sign. Hawke would bet his life that Fenris had almost nothing to his name.

"Alright, what do you have? Let's see it."

Fenris dug into his pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill and a ring. At first glance the ring was dull, uninteresting, but when Hawke squinted at it he could see intricate carvings along the band, patterns and ancient letters that Hawke had never seen before. And there were jewels - tiny emeralds encrusted along the side, and a fair sized ruby set into the middle. It sparkled a little as it rolled in his palm.

"This is all I have left." The words didn't sound pitiful, somehow, coming from Fenris. They were a quiet admission, almost proud-sounding in the rough timbre of his voice.

"Keep the five. I'll take the ring." At the expression on Fenris' face, Hawke grimaced. "I mean, uh, I'll take it as a deposit. You'll get it back afterwards, when you can manage to pay. I promise not to pawn it off in the meantime."

Hawke presented his most winning smile, and the line of Fenris' shoulders untensed slightly.

"Deal," said Fenris, putting his palm on top of Hawke's outstretched hand.

They shook once, briefly, and when Hawke pulled his hand back he found that it was hard to speak. Fenris had left the ring in his hand. It was still warm from his skin.

"Just tell me the time and place," Hawke eventually managed.

"This Friday at eight.” He took out a piece of paper and handed it to Hawke. “This is the address. Meet me by the back gate.” Fenris pulled up his his hood again and turned away before looking over his shoulder and adding, “And don’t be late.”

“Got it,” Hawke said faintly. He watched, dumbstruck, as Fenris nodded once and swiftly took his leave.

This was not how Hawke usually conducted business. If it had been, he would have been out of work a long time ago. And possibly dead. This was downright unprofessional of him; he hadn’t been paid in cash or given any real details about the job he’d be doing. Varric would be ashamed. Yet Hawke found he didn’t much care. He squeezed his hand around the ring once, then slipped it into his pocket.

-

Hawke showed up at the meeting place on Friday fifteen minutes ahead of schedule just to spite Isabela, who had undoubtedly been the one to tell Fenris of his occasional habit of being late. The street was quiet when he arrived. The mark lived in a gated community with decent security (decent, as in it had taken Hawke more than the usual ten minutes to get past it), and the entire neighborhood was pristine in an eerie way. All of the houses were mansions, and all of them were constructed in the gothic style replete with flying buttresses and pointed archways. It hurt Hawke’s eyes a little to look at them.

The mansion behind the back gate Hawke was currently standing next to was notable in that it was more dilapidated than its neighbors. It looked genuinely like it had come straight out of an old painting or off the pages of a Victorian novel.

Hawke didn’t have long to mull over that; within two minutes of him arriving, Fenris was sidling up behind him. Hawke could tell it was him by the subtle displacement of air and the near-silent footfall. Fenris moved like a ghost.

“Hawke,” said Fenris, sounding almost surprised.

Hawke affected a smirk and turned to find Fenris in the same black leggings and hoodie. He looked even smaller, if possible, than the last time they had met.

“Thought I’d scope out the place before you got here,” Hawke said casually. A half-truth.

“No need,” said Fenris. “I know this place. I’ll guide you.”

Hawke wiped his forehead, and his hand came away sweaty. Did Fenris always sound like he was pledging his soul to you when he spoke? If so, Hawke wasn’t sure how long he’d last.

“Right. Guide me. Well, seeing as I’m acting as your bodyguard for this gig, I sort of have to have a working knowledge of the situat--”

“You’re not my bodyguard,” Fenris said, voice devoid of inflection. “You are... back-up. In case things get messy, I need you to hold them off for as long as it takes for me to get my sister out.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Hawke put up his hands, a placating gesture. “First of all, who’s ‘them’? Secondly, are you trying to kidnap your sister? Because I didn’t agree to that! I’ve known some people involved in kidnappings, and that shit does _not_ fly, Fenris.”

“I’m not _kidnapping_ her,” Fenris grit out, nostrils flaring.

Hawke took a step back out of instinct. It hadn’t taken him very long to fuck things up, as he’d suspected.

“Okay, sorry, that was uncalled for. But you do have to fill me in a little here, otherwise I can guarantee things will go south pretty much immediately.”

The fight left Fenris in one long exhale. He played with the frayed end of his hoodie drawstring and refused to meet Hawke’s eyes while he gathered the wherewithal to speak.

When he finally opened his mouth, it all came tumbling out in a rush: “This mansion belongs to Danarius Trenton. He adopted me when I was ten. In this house he and his mistress, Hadriana, tormented me for years. I escaped eight years ago when I was sixteen. I haven’t seen him since.”

He looked up, finally, and seemed bolstered by whatever expression Hawke was wearing. “A month ago I received a letter from my sister, Varania, whom I haven’t seen since I left the foster system. Danarius had gotten a hold of her somehow and managed to convince her that I was troubled and that he wanted to help me. He’s trying to use her to get to me. I can’t let that happen.”

Hawke nodded. “Okay, so you want to go in there, guns blazing, and... have a heart-to-heart with your sister?”

“My hope is to convince her that I am okay and that she should remove herself from Danarius’ company at once.”

“And if she refuses?”

Fenris looked at him blankly, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. His jaw ticced. “She won’t,” he said shortly.

“Alright, then. Sounds like a plan. Do you happen to have a map of this place?”

“No, but I can draw one.”

Hawke took the satchel off his back and unearthed an old comic and a pencil stub. He flipped to the back page and handed the items to Fenris, who stared at them for a moment like he had no idea what to do with them. Then he bit his lip and abruptly sprang into motion, wrist moving in quick flicks as he worked. A moment later, he tore out the page and gave the materials back to Hawke.

The map was more elaborate than Hawke would have expected, complete with labels for doors, windows, and even a few linen closets, all detailed meticulously in Fenris’ spiky scrawl.

“Ever consider going into architecture?” Hawke said, only half-joking.

Fenris’ mouth flattened into a straight line. He guessed that was a no.

“Okay, if you think you can scale the building from the east side, follow me. If not, wait until I climb in and open the back door from the inside.”

“The house is heavily alarmed,” Fenris warned.

“Not a problem.”

Hawke flashed a cheeky grin and set about climbing the back gate, which was conveniently adorned with intricate filigree that served as excellent footholds. When Hawke dropped down clumsily on the other side, he was surprised to see Fenris already springing himself over the top of the gate and landing far more neatly than he had, no doubt courtesy of his lithe frame.

“Not bad,” Hawke said. Then Fenris was snatching his wrist and yanking him behind the nearest set of bushes.

“Security cameras,” Fenris explained.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why all the stealth? You brought me along to kick Danarius’ ass, right? So why not bust in, grab Varania, and explain the situation to her in, I don’t know, a café. Hell, drinks are on me if you bring her back to the Hanged Man.”

“Danarius is not expecting us today. I wrote Varania back and told her I would come on Sunday.” Fenris’ mouth tightened. “Danarius entertains guests on the lower floors on Friday night. Varania should be staying third floor in one of the guest rooms. If possible, I would prefer to talk to her without confronting him at all. You’re here with me in the event that things go wrong.”

“Wrong how?” Hawke prodded gently. He knew by the look in Fenris’ eyes that the subject was sensitive, but he thought he deserved to know what he was getting into. More selfishly, he wanted to know so that he could decipher some of the mystery surrounding Fenris’... everything.

The words came haltingly. “Danarius thinks of me as property. If he has me back within his grasp, he will not be so quick to release me.”

Hawke had nothing tasteful to say to that, so he merely nodded, looked around for more cameras, and dragged Fenris to the next crop of bushes. By the time they made it to the east side of the building, Hawke was buzzing with pent up energy and frustration. Most of the jobs he took were thrilling from the very start, and Hawke was nothing if not an adrenaline junkie. But this sneaking around was tiring him out fast. Hawke would rather confront someone directly than tip-toe among the shadows.

Scaling the building was again made easier by all of the embellishments of gothic architecture, but Hawke still looked like he’d taken a dip in a lake - and a smelly one, at that - by the time he made it to the entry point. Fenris, on the other hand, lifted himself onto the third story balcony as though he had been born a natural gymnast. It figured that the person who had hired Hawke was more competent than him at his own job.

Not only was Fenris incredibly attractive, he was physically, artistically, and, in all likelihood, mentally superior to Hawke himself. Rather than feeling jealous, Hawke kind of wanted to kneel at his feet and lavish praise on him like a stupidly loyal dog. He was starting to think Isabela had sent him Fenris just to tease him.

And with his fantastic luck, Fenris was straight. Or just not into lumbering giants with awful senses of humor.

“Hawke,” Fenris said, in the exasperated tone of someone who had been calling someone else for a while.

Hawke snapped to attention at once, offering up a sheepish smile. “You were saying?”

“I was saying,” Fenris began testily, “that we should begin along the north wall. Danarius often favored those rooms for preferred guests.”

“Right,” said Hawke. He dismantled the lock on the stained glass window in a matter of minutes and stepped back. “Lead the way.”

With Fenris at the helm, they checked all of the rooms along the north wall within ten minutes. Undeterred by Varania’s conspicuous absence, he led Hawke through every twisting corridor on the third floor. Only when each room had been checked thoroughly did any sign of weariness begin to show in Fenris’ eyes. He slumped against the door to the last room and let out an aggravated breath through his nose.

“I don’t understand. He only puts guests on the third floor.”

“It’s been eight years,” Hawke said gently. “Maybe he’s changed things a little.”

“I know Danarius,” Fenris snarled, eyes abruptly alight with fire. “He is a creature of habit. He hasn’t altered a single floorboard in my absence.”

“I-- Okay. Sorry.”

Fenris softened just as swiftly as he’d grown irritable. “No, I’m sorry. Being here... It brings out the worst in me. I would like to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

“I understand,” said Hawke, though he was not sure that he did. “Maybe we should check downstairs? Varania could be mingling with Danarius’ guests.”

“He hosts mainly old businessmen on Friday night. I can’t see why Varania would--”

Fenris cut himself off suddenly. In the blink of an eye, he became a blur of movement, grabbing Hawke by the shoulder and shoving him bodily around the corner. Hawke was too busy being impressed that Fenris had managed to move him to hear the sound of heels clicking against the smooth marble floors. When it finally did register, he realized that Fenris had heard it much earlier than he had. Add superior hearing and reflexes to the list of things he was better at, then.

Fenris had gone pale beside him, knuckles white with how tightly his fists were clenched. _Fuck_ , Hawke thought. If Fenris looked like this, then it must be bad. But if not Danarius, then who--

“Fenris!”

The voice was sweet like antifreeze. Hawke took one look at Fenris and felt a lump form in his throat. This must be Danarius’ mistress - Hecate? Hades?

“Hadriana,” Fenris spat.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago & really should have proofread it at least one more time before posting it BUT if i don't post it now I'll probably just never get around to it tbh. So here, have a first chapter. 
> 
> if you want more let me know?


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